Toasted Caramel Whiskey
by Where-Is-My-Miind
Summary: Morty drowns his sorrows with stolen liquor. ((Work In Progress))


The liquor burnt his throat as it slipped past his lips and settled in his stomach, making it ache with warmth. "Black Velvet….. Toasted Caramel…. W-Whiskey." Morty said out loud to himself, grinning like an idiot as he fiddled with the painted label on the bottle. "Wow m-man…. I'm like all grown up or something…. Drinkin' like-like an adult… Like a real adult."

He giggled, although the action made him feel like gagging. So he untwisted the black cap from the Whiskey and downed another gulp to numb anymore sensation.

Morty had stolen the booze from his Alcoholic Grandpa Rick, who naturally had his very own Liquor cabinet installed in his bedroom. Made from Mahogany wood and everything. The teen had considered briefly that his relative would notice the bottles absence, but after stashing it under his messy bed for about a week without getting questioned, he had come to realize that his Grandpa would never come to figure. So after a fairly hard, fairly traumatizing adventure, he had decided to use the untouched booze for it's purpose. He never expected it to taste so sweet, like syrup. It was nothing like beer, or wine, which was bitter and cold and assaulted his tastebuds.

So here he laid, sprawled on his bed in a tangle of blue sheets, with a drunken flushed face and a need to laugh incessantly at anything.

But hey, a lot of things look like genitals when you're drunk.

"I'm on top of the wooorld!" Morty cheered to himself, bringing his hands up and attempting to grab the out of reach ceiling that was plastered with plastic glow in the dark stars, which spun around in blur of color.

"I n-need Ice Cream to celebrate my on top of-of the worldness." He decided, lowering his small hands back down and crossing them over his chest; although his eyes never tore from the dizzy turning of the house. "I wonder-if uh….I wonder…..I wonder if you can c-call an Ice Cream truck…From….From a phone."

He pondered on the idea for a moment before realizing he didn't even have a phone anymore.

After Summer broke hers by dropping it into a public toilet, she demanded to have his since she couldn't pay for her own.

So he wobbled to a standing position, starting his adventure to the freezer. His feet curved towards his body, making him bow legged. Frowning and straightening them out, he gripped onto the wall for support as the world swayed around him. He knew he had to be quiet, if his Mom or Dad heard him making too much noise they would most likely groggily stumble out of their rooms, demanding information on the ruckus. Morty was way too wasted to make an excuse.

Limping to the kitchen, the brunette groped around in the darkness finding his way to the handle of the fridge. Peeling it open as silently as possible, he was flooded with eye blinding light.

Squeaking, thinking that for whatever reason he had just died and seen the bright light, he shriveled and cowered in defense.

He covered his eyes for a second before it dawned upon him that it was only the fridge light, and he still needed his chilly dessert. Giving a series of slurred giggles, he took ahold of the Vanilla Ice Cream.

Light spilled into the kitchen and he dropped the container, thinking he had died a second time.

"W-Well, Well, Well." The teen heard Rick say, who was standing in the doorway, finger still on the light switch.

"Couldn't contain your sweet tooth, huh, Morty?"

He tried to think of a witty comeback, but instead he found that all his mind could process was Ice Cream.

"Vanilla." He laughed, picking up the containter. "V-Vanilla Ice Cream…. It's—It's Ice Cream… And…. With the flavor of Vanilla…. God Bless America, Rick…. God Bless America."

Morty happily gazed down at his dairy sweet, his eyes beginning to grow hot, proud, tears in them. He wiped them away and sniffled. "Whoever invented Ice Cream…. Deserves to-to be President…. Of like…. Texas."

Rick didn't seem amused. He strutted over to him, crouching down to his level so they could make eye contact. "Morty." He hissed, making the teen flinch. "Are—Are you drunk or has your learning disability gotten—bRAUURgh—w-worse."

Morty vaguely remembered his parents telling him about his disability and when he had lost control of his body functions for 72 hours, he remembered Rick telling him he agreed with his parents-And that he was dumb. Most of the memory was fuzzy though, his emotions and thoughts numbed with the ease of intoxication.

"Ice Cream." He stated. "Ice Cream." Giving a small burp, he broke into laughter, giving a wide toothy grin to the old scientist besides him. Rick straightened his composure, before sticking a thin finger in his Grandsons face. His eyes crossed as he tried to focus on it. "You're fucking drunk, Morty. You're drunk and you s-stole my liquor. It was the whiskey, right? Do you know how much that shit cost, Morty? It's not- It's not cheap."

Morty was a little offended, sure, he knew he had no right to steal Ricks things, but still. The fact that all his Grandpa cared about was the Whiskey, and not his well-being, made his emotions tumble back and sting into his chest. "W-what do you care if your human cloaking device drinks some-some of your s-shit sometimes… It's not a b-big deal, calm down Rick. Damn."

Rick rolled his eyes, "What-What are you trying to do, Morty? Be like y-your big Grandpa Rick? Am I your- BLUERRFGg- Role model?! Are you going to become an alcoholic and then what- are you going to-to become a scientist and get a wife only to leave her AND your child for what- 20 years?!"

"No!" Morty retaliated, spitting as he defended himself. "I could never be you, Rick. I c-could try all I want—but I'll never be an inconsiderate asshole like you! I w-want to be caring, and generous and —" He was cut off as vomit erupted from my mouth and spilled onto the floor. He almost forgot how much everything was spinning. Rick calmly stepped away from the mess, a look of disgust tugging on his features. Smacking on the stinging taste of bile on his tongue, the brunette began to sob in humiliation and pain. Crumbling to the ground and hugging himself tightly with a painful scrunched expression. The scientist glared down at his sidekick, taking in the pathetic mess he was. Crying on the ground, splattered with vomit, drunk and miserable.

"M-Morty, why did you drink my stuff? You just t-trying to be a normal teen or s-something? Fit in with the group?"

His thoughts turned to Summer for a moment when his Grandpa had said 'Fit in with the group'.

He remembered the time that she told him she had snorted coke in an attempt to impress the popular kids.

They weren't impressed when she had stripped in public and tried to fuck a homeless man around Ricks age.

"I don't give a crap what the 'group' thinks a-about me." Morty told him. "I drink to forget."

Rick swallowed harshly, he could feel sympathy swarm his head. He swatted it away, he would only allow himself to feel pity. So he decided to pity Morty.

"Go to the bathroom and-and clean yourself up." He said with displeasure. "And You won't be s-stealing anymore of my booze."

"F-Fuck you." Morty choked out, sucking in clear snot with a sniffle. "J-just leave me alone."

Rick pinched his temples, he wasn't about to let his Grandson wallow in a puddle of self-pity and vomit, only to be discovered hours later when Beth and Jerry awoke.

He would definitely be kicked out of the house at the point, and that was something to be avoided.

"Don't make me drag you."

Morty kicked his legs wildly, in a teen version of a temper tantrum. "Do that and-and I'll SCREAM! I'll uh- I'll blame all of this on you!"

The scientist could feel the familiar taint of anger, swelling up in his chest.

"You're the most annoy-BuuRgh!-ing drunk… Remind me to n-never party with you."

Morty flipped him off.

_Next Chapter will kinda explain why Morty turned to alcohol and blah blah i'll write more chapters later I guess._

_If you see any errors tell me, and constructive criticism is welcome._

_Give me reviews to keep me motivated :3_


End file.
